


Give Me That Man Who Is Not Passion's Slave (Because He's Super Cute)

by GoldandScarlett



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: College AU, M/M, every other basic trope every au, fake dating au, someone please stop me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldandScarlett/pseuds/GoldandScarlett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamlet enlists Ophelia in his awesome plan to make Horatio fall madly in love with him. It's totally gonna work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Plan is Plotted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hatrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatrack/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me about Hamlet and other old lit I should not be this into on tumblr! Ragnar-rockandroll.tumblr.com

              Hamlet and Ophelia were in Hamlet’s room because Hamlet had a single. One of the many advantages to having a rich father was that you could afford things like the luxury of a single. Nonetheless, it was a small, claustrophobic space -it was a college dorm room after all- all the more so because Hamlet had gotten drunk one day and painted the walls black in dripping chaotic streaks. Horatio had taken one look at it and gone out, coming back half an hour later with sandpaper for the drips, and a whole new tub of black paint in a vain effort to counteract Hamlet’s drunken interior designing.

            “I don’t know that Wittenberg will be too happy about you turning your room into an actual cave,” Horatio said, as he spread paint on the wall in clean, even strokes. “It’s bad enough that you spent half of philosophy yesterday talking about its extended metaphor. They’ll probably make you pay for it.”

            Hamlet collapsed backwards onto his bed. “You mean they’ll call my mom and try to get her to pay. And then she’ll pass the phone to Claudius because she doesn’t know how to deal with anything, ever. Which means Claudius will be forced to pay and, honestly, fuck that guy.” The more money he’s forced to blow on me the better.”

            Horatio sighed to show that he was not at all impressed, but also that he wasn’t actually going to do anything about it. Hamlet was well versed in the intricacies of Horatio’s sighs, having been so often the cause of them. Instead, Horatio dipped his roller into the paint once more and carefully painted over another portion of the wall.

            “I used a brush, you know,” Hamlet said.

            “Yes I did know that, funnily enough,” Horatio retorted, “considering you left brush strokes all over the walls.”

            “It was for aesthetic,” Hamlet said, leaning up on one arm to watch as Horatio stood on tiptoe reach a section of the wall near the ceiling. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of dark skin. Hamlet averted his eyes and swallowed hard.

            So yeah, he had a problem, and that problem was definitely his huge and insurmountable crush on Horatio. This was why he and Ophelia were currently sitting on Hamlet’s floor, surrounded by the oppressive darkness of Hamlet’s walls, discussing a plan of action. Well, actually, Hamlet was discussing a plan of action while Ophelia rolled her eyes at virtually everything Hamlet said.

            This was the plan so far, as Hamlet had laid it out:

            “Alright Ophelia,” Hamlet said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You need to pretend to be in love with me-”

            There came smothered laughter from Ophelia.

            “What?” Hamlet demanded. “I’m hot. I’m rich. It’s not that hard to imagine.”

            “Sure,” Ophelia said. “Go on.”

            Hamlet shot her one last affronted look and then continued. “Be really weird about it. Like follow me around. Tell all your friends how we’re getting married. Hire a helicopter and rain down pictures of my face from the sky. Are you paying attention, ‘cause I’m only being half facetious right now.”

            “That’s what I’m worried about,” Ophelia said. “What is the point of this again?”

            “Be _cause_ ,” Hamlet explained. His voice was beginning to get that pinched, exasperated sound it got when things weren’t going his way. “I need to convince Horatio that it’s a good idea that he pretends to date me to get you off my back. And then he’ll realize that he’s actually in love with me and then we’ll end up making out in my solitary dorm room cave.”

            “That’s ridiculous,” Ophelia said, flatly. “Why don’t you just ask him out like an actual adult?”

            “Because, _Ophelia,_ ” Hamlet said. “I’m a fucking coward, okay? Are you going to help me or not?”

            “Well, I’m not going to do any of the things you suggested because they’re stupid and I don’t want to irrevocably damage my dignity, but I’ll cut you a deal. How about I casually bring you up in conversation with Horatio?  I’ll say you’re kind of cute and I wouldn’t mind dating you. That sort of thing. Deal?”

            “I still think it would have been better if you acted crazy about me,” Hamlet muttered.

            “Yes, Hamlet. That’s because you think woman are stereotypes. _Horatio_ is not an asshole, so he will understand that my subtle hints mean I really like you but also that I am capable of liking a guy without going absolutely insane.”

            Hamlet sighed. “Well, I still think my way is better,” he said. “But I’m willing to compromise.”

            “How kind of you,” Ophelia said, standing up. “Horatio’s on lunch break right now. If I hurry I can catch him before he heads to class. See you around, loser.”

            “Bye, Ophelia,” Hamlet called after her retreating figure. He sighed again. Then he grabbed his copy of _Selected Poems by Lord Byron_ from his bedside table and began to read. Being in love _sucked._  

***

            Horatio liked Ophelia. She was smart and witty and took none of Hamlet’s shit (which Horatio could really admire, because he knew firsthand what a difficult task that often was), But he had to finish this book before his next class, and his lunch break was only so long.

            “Hi,” Ophelia said, ignoring Horatio’s failure to reciprocate the gesture and barreling on with “Wanna talk about Hamlet?”

            Horatio looked up suspiciously. “No,” he said. “I want to finish reading this book so I can adequately contribute to our class discussion and my grade doesn’t suffer.”

            “What’s your grade in that class again?” Ophelia asked. “Is it pretty high? Because I’m willing to bet a lot of money it’s pretty high. Like, as high as Hamlet at that party last weekend.”

            The lack of subtly did not escape Horatio. “Be that as it may,” he said. “Some people don’t have rich parents to pay their tuitions. _Some_ people have to keep their grades up so they can keep their scholarship.”

            “Horatio, you have twenty pages left in that book and a good half hour left in your lunch break. You can spare me ten minutes.”

            Horatio did not even bother to ask how Ophelia knew when his lunch break ended. Ophelia made it a point to know both his and Hamlet’s schedules so that she could always find them when she wanted to gossip. Or insult them. Or show them pictures of her new favorite plants.  “Yes,” he acknowledged. “But I wanted to have some time to craft some discussion questions I can ask and to get my thoughts on the novel together.”

            “That’s disgusting,” Ophelia replied, unrepentant.

            “True,” Horatio agreed. “But it pays to be prepared. Now, can I please get back to work?”

            “‘ _It pays to be prepared_.’ God, you sound like an inspiration throw pillow or something. Come on Horatio. The sooner you talk to me, the sooner I leave you alone.”

            Horatio had to admit she had a point there, so he reluctantly closed his book and turned to look at her. “So,” he said. “You wanted to talk about Hamlet for some reason?”

            Ophelia laughed. It wasn’t even a giggle, just a flat-out cackle of wicked laughter. Horatio was already regretting the lack of willpower that had led him to agree to talk to her. “Why?” she said, between peals of hyena laughter. “Do _you_ wanna talk about him?”

            “I mean, if you do?” Horatio said. “You did come over here and ask me if I wanted to talk about Hamlet.”

            Ophelia continued to laugh for a moment, while Horatio stared at her. Then she seemed to compose herself and said, “Do you think he’s cute?”

            “Um, what?” Horatio said.

            “Because I do,” said Ophelia. “I think I could date him.”

            “Okay,” Horatio said, ignoring the odd twisting feeling he was getting in his stomach. Ophelia was rather pretty. Even he could see that. “I’m sure Hamlet would say yes, if you asked him.”

            For some reason, Ophelia burst into another round of cackling. “Alright,” she said, between gasps of laughter. “That’s really all I wanted to say. You can go back to reading your book now.”

***

            Hamlet was distracted from Byron by the persistent buzzing of his phone as it vibrated in circles around his desk. He stretched his arm out and reached for it. One of the advantages of a small dorm room was that you could reach virtually every part of it from a seated position in the middle of the floor. _Call from: Ophelia._ Hamlet picked up.

            “It is done,” came the voice on the other end. It was definitely Ophelia’s voice, but it had a faintly misty quality to it.

            “Why didn’t you just text me that?” Hamlet demanded, but Ophelia had already hung up.


	2. The Actors are Conscripted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm sorry. It's been what? Two months? I could probably look up just how much of a procrastinator I am but why would I torment myself like that. Here's chapter two. Thanks for commenting and stuff. It's very motivating.

            Hamlet waited two hours and twenty minutes before he went to find Horatio. He figured this was probably a respectable amount of time: enough that Horatio would not have completely forgotten his conversation with Ophelia but would also not be suspicious about the conversations occurring in such close proximity. Also, it was when Horatio’s class ended.

            “Hey, Horatio,” Hamlet said, sidling up beside him. Horatio was on his phone, and therefore had not noticed Hamlet leaning casually against the wall outside his classroom. Hamlet tried not to be put out by this.

            “Oh. Hey, Hamlet,” Horatio said. He tapped away at his phone for a few more minutes, during which Hamlet tried not to be annoyed. Then he slid his phone into his pocket and flashed Hamlet a dazzling smile. “What’s up?”

            “Oh, um.” Hamlet had not actually planned this bit. “I uh, I have a problem,” he blurted out.

            He had Horatio’s attention at once. “Are you okay?” Horatio asked.

            “Oh uh, no. Wait, I mean yes. Whatever. It’s not a serious problem,” Hamlet amended hurriedly. “Sorry. It’s actually Ophelia?”

            “What about her? She okay?” Horatio was something of a worrier, especially when it came to his friends. He was incapable of not assuming the worst.

            “Yeah she’s fine. We’re all fine. She just. She has this huge thing for me. It’s super annoying. And I need your help.”

            “Ophelia?” Horatio asked.

            “Yeah, didn’t she say something to you?” Then Hamlet realized his mistake and added, “I mean, she’s been talking about it basically constantly. So I like, assume she would have.”

            Horatio nodded slowly. “She did say something? I sort of assumed she was messing with me. There was a lot of rather manical laughter.”

            “Why would she be messing with you?” Hamlet asked.

            “I dunno,” Horatio muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and ducking his head. “She’s Ophelia.”

            Hamlet accepted that this was true. “Anyways,” he continued, because it was important to stay on mission. “I need your help.”

            “Right,” Horatio said. “You mentioned.”

            “I need you to pretend to date me.”

            “I’m sorry. What?”

            The plan was not going well, Hamlet reflected. Horatio seemed almost angry. He tried again. “I need you to fake date me so Ophelia thinks I’m taken. Probably you’d have to like, kiss me in front of her and stuff…” He trailed off awkwardly, for Horatio’s face had gone stormy.  

            “Are you seriously that oblivious?” Horatio demanded. “Even you can’t be that oblivious.”

            “Uh.” Hamlet stared wide eyed at Horatio. He’d never seen Horatio this angry before. Generally, he exuded either resignation or bemusement, and if he did get angry it was a polite sort of frosty anger, but never this.

            “Oh my god,” Horatio said, and just like that his anger vanished. “You are actually that oblivious.”

            “About what?” Hamlet asked, but Horatio only smiled a strained sort of smile.

            “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Why don’t we go back to your dorm room and discuss this plan of yours. Because it has some serious flaws.”

            They followed one of the winding cobbled paths back to the centre of campus. Wittenberg was certainly beautiful in the fall, and Hamlet tried to focus on the brilliant colors of the leaves and not the way the Horatio’s hand would occasionally brush up against his: a side effect of walking side by side on such a narrow path, and the way his stomach was flipping in tight little knots because Horatio had been _angry_.

            “This place is depressing,” Horatio said, as he always said, as soon as they had stepped into Hamlet’s room. Still, the familiarity of it made Hamlet relax a little. Horatio seemed to have forgiven him for whatever transgression he may have committed.

            “I like it,” Hamlet said. “You did a good job with the repaint.”

            “You should stick some constellations on it or something,” Horatio said.

            “I have no love of the heavens,” Hamlet said. “For the heavens don’t love me.”

            “Wow,” Horatio deadpanned. “That was deep.”

            They were edging around the subject. Hamlet was rarely the bigger person but in this case he felt he ought to be, if only because this was all his idea. (He still refused to admit it was a dumb plan.)  He shifted uneasily on his feet for a moment, then dove in.

            “So, about the um… the thing,” he said, then shot an appraising glance towards Horatio. Horatio regarded him benignly, and Hamlet took this as an invitation to continue. “So, what do you think?” he finally managed. It had been his intent to shower Horatio with logical reasons as to why he ought to follow through with Hamlet’s plan, but he found that all his carefully constructed arguments had fled his mind.

            “I think it’s kind of stupid,” Horatio said bluntly. “Also, couldn’t you have asked one of your weird fuckboy friends?”

            “Rosen and Guild aren’t _fuckboys_ ,” Hamlet said. Then he paused to consider if he’d actually just said that out loud. “Okay, so they are. But knowing that you should be able to figure out what their reactions would be pretty quickly.” Hamlet dropped his voice an octave and thrust out his pelvis. “ _Broooo_ , you want me to like, be your boyfriend. That’s so _gaaay_.” Hamlet returned his voice and pelvis to their normal ranges. “Would be what they both said,” he finished.

            “To be fair to them, they do at least have an almost correct understanding of what the word “gay” means,” Horatio said. “That’s something I would not have given them credit for.”

            “Well,” Hamlet said, “I was paraphrasing a bit. But we’re getting off topic.”

            Horatio sighed. “So you want me to be your fake boyfriend?”

            “Yes.”

            “To make Ophelia lay off her infatuation that she apparently has that I’m only just hearing about?”

            “Also yes?”

            “Even though this plan is completely ridiculous and pointless and will doubtless come to nothing?”

            Hamlet was starting to get a little nervous now. “I-yes?”

            Horatio signed again, in a sort of resigned way. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

            “Really?”

            Horatio cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yes,” he said.

            “You know, when you said you wanted to come back to my room and discuss all the ways in which my plan was flawed, I sort of thought that that was actually what was going to happen. Did you just want an excuse to be alone with me in my bedroom or something?”

            Horatio glowered at him.

            “Sorry,” Hamlet said, backtracking quickly lest the stormy Horatio from earlier return. “But we are fake dating now. You’re going to have to get used to that sort of thing.”

            Horatio continued to glower.

            “Sorry,” Hamlet said again.

            “It’s fine,” Horatio said stiffly. “And I’m helping you because you’re my best friend. And sometimes it’s my job to stop you from doing something stupid, and sometimes I’m just supposed to ride out your poor life choices with you. Because that’s what friends are for.”

            Hamlet could have kissed him.

           

 


	3. Daring Rescues and Ancient Chivarly

           “Okay,” Hamlet said, trying to sound soothing, despite the fact that he was equally on edge. “You’ve totally got this. Just act casual.”

“Is my hand sweating?” Horatio asked. “I really feel like my hand is sweating.”

“It’s not,” Hamlet reassured him. Actually, Horatio’s hand was quite pleasantly cool linked in Hamlet’s, but Hamlet didn’t want to spook Horatio by saying so. He kept quiet, squeezing Horatio’s hand slightly. “What are you doing this weekend?” he asked, mostly to take Horatio’s mind off his anxiety.

“Why are you asking me that? Obviously, I’m hanging out with you and Ophelia. What else do I do?” He sounded snappish, but that was just Horatio, Hamlet knew. He got that way when he was anxious. He must have caught his tone, though, because he relented a bit and said, “My roommate’s visiting his family. Which means I can clean everything without him complaining. So, those are my plans.”

Horatio, in typical first-year fashion, had gotten an awful roommate. He took naps at four in the afternoon and wouldn’t let Horatio have the lights on, and his stream of clutter was constantly creeping over onto Horatio’s side of the room. He was a blemish on Horatio’s existence, as Ophelia and Hamlet had heard many times.

“Sounds incredibly exciting,” Hamlet said.

“You better get into it because you’re helping me,” Horatio said.

“Oh come on, Horatio. We’ve tried this before. I help you clean. You get mad when I try to organize your books by how much they matter. You kick me out.”

“You _hid_ my copy of _Frankenstein_!”

“It’s insulting,” said Hamlet, primly.

Horatio sighed and gave up the point, but Hamlet noted that he seemed a little less anxious and took it as a victory. “I suppose I can help you clean your room,” Hamlet said.

“Thank you,” said Horatio. 

“Hey guys.”

Hamlet had been so absorbed in harassing Horatio that he hadn’t even noticed Ophelia coming up, but there she was, grinning warmly at them, with no indication that she’d noticed their intertwined hands.

He made a pointed face at her, and jerked his chin towards their hands.

“Ah,” she said. “You guys are holding hands.”

Hamlet grinned at her. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re dating.” He felt Horatio’s hand twitch in his, and ignored it.

“Huh,” said Ophelia. “That’s interesting. Well, I’ve got botany! Gotta run!”

“That was…weird,” said Horatio, as they watched Ophelia’s retreating figure make its way towards the green house.

“She’s probably just devastated and pretending to be okay by grasping on to the normality of a school schedule,” said Hamlet. He hoped the excuse sounded logical. He was going to have strong words with Ophelia later about how you were supposed to behave when the person you were pretending to be in love with was apparently dating someone else.

“That actually makes…a bit of sense,” Horatio admitted.

“Of course it does,” Hamlet said, trying to hide his relief. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

***

Later that night, Hamlet climbed into bed, clutching his book to his chest in a vain effort to distract himself. He had felt awful all day, guilty at the thought that he was tricking Horatio, and, he had to admit, a little petulant about the fact that he couldn’t go back on his plan now without revealing his own feelings. He read until he drifted into an uneasy sleep with the lights still on.

He woke, later that night, to a persistent buzzing. His phone was vibrating.

“Hamlet?” The voice on the other end of the line was quavery, and Hamlet felt his heart jump.

He jerked up in bed. “Horatio? You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing like that.” Horatio began to laugh. “There’s just, um, a moth in my room?”

“A moth?” Hamlet asked. Then, somewhat disbelievingly, “You’re afraid of moths.”

“I’m not _afraid_ of them,” Horatio said, somewhat testily. “I just have a healthy respect for them.”

Hamlet, who was in the process of yanking on a pair of jeans, tried very hard not to laugh. “What’s to respect?” he asked. “They literally will light themselves on fire if given the chance.”

“Exactly,” Horatio insisted. “That’s _creepy_. Do they not care about their own mortality?”

“I think they’re just really stupid,” Hamlet said. He was in the hall now. Horatio lived at the other end of his floor.

“Oh please,” said Horatio, “You are the last person who is allowed to laugh at me for saying something like that.”

Hamlet conceded that this was true. “Would you like me to come get rid of the moth for you?” he asked instead.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Horatio said, a little sheepishly. 

“I live down the hall from you. I’m already at your door.”

“Oh,” said Horatio. “Just walk in.”

Hamlet hung up and entered. Horatio was sitting cross-legged on his bed, hugging a pillow to his chest and warily regarding the small creature flittering about his light. He did not look up at the sound of Hamlet entering.

“Don’t kill it!” he said, in exchange for hello.

“It’s a moth, Horatio.”

“Just because you’re down for casual murder doesn’t mean I am.”

Hamlet sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll put it outside.”

“Thank you,” Horatio said, with dignity.

Hamlet dragged over Horatio’s desk chair and climbed on top. The moth had in no way expected the notion that it ought to be captured, but dodged Hamlet’s grasping fingers with easy agility, still managing to keep close to the light. Hamlet swore mildly, stretching his fingers out even further. The chair tilted forward. Hamlet was suspended in the air for only a moment then, arms reeling, he went careening towards the floor.

“Holy shit! Hamlet!” Horatio, still cocooned in blankets, sprang off the bed to try to help him, and instead became hopelessly tangled on top of Hamlet, who suddenly found that he had lost all air.

“Fuck, sorry,” Horatio said, climbing off Hamlet as quickly as he could.

Hamlet rolled onto his back, gasping. “Not your fault. It’s that fucking moth. It’s out to get me.” He paused, then added, “Thus making it on par with the rest of the world.”

The two of them looked up just in time to see the moth finally get beneath the screen of the lamp.  It fizzed as it hit the bulb, and then its carcass fell silently onto the glass which cupped the lightbulb, leaving a small winged shadow.

“You know,” said Hamlet, staring up at the shadow of the dead moth, “there is something sort of philosophical about it. It reminds me a little of the human condition. We strive endlessly towards the unreachable, only to find that what we wanted was never any good for us anyway.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Horatio, and hit him with a pillow. 

 


End file.
